


Ineffable Day

by Zamir (zeddred)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Books, Canon Gay Relationship, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Duck Abuse, Ducks, Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gay, Good and Evil, M/M, Old Friends, Other, Plant abuse, Plants, Plato to romo love, Tsunderes, angel - Freeform, bibliophile, demon, ineffable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeddred/pseuds/Zamir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lame attempt at what I'd like to call a Good Omens fanfic. Will (most likely) add chapters and/or fine tune this blasted thing at some point. . . Listed as "mature" for all plants, as I'd really hate to have a young plant stumble upon this and then wet 'imself in fright. (It's happened before, ask Crowley.) Heads up for the (possible) second chapter - which I'm planning on making much longer than this bit. If anyone gives a damn-er..grace..er...anything, really, about this little blurb, let me know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ineffable Day

A.J. Crowley yawns lazily awake, his serpentine eyes squinting at the sudden intrusion of morning light. Before even stretching out from his coiled position, he slides on his shades and mumbles to himself along the lines of "ngk..All that sunshine is a bad..err…good..influence on those blasted plants…It’s a damn shame I'm cold-blooded, else I’d see to it that not a single ray of light makes it past these obscene windows..."

He can’t have his ferns getting spoiled, (the "good" way, of course), now, can he?

He sighs, rising fluidly - with a cobra’s grace - and snaps his thumb against his middle finger.

The curtains zip shut with a  _vroom,_ and Crowley now wears a sleek black suit that accentuates his evilness in a _damn_ fine way.

“Lights out you little bastards! Let’s get straight to business!”

In the sudden darkness, every living creature..that is, every plant..trembles, building up a silent frenzy - doing their best to appear as luscious as possible in the brief and ominous moments before their judgment.

Crowley combs through each and every plant in the flat with his glaring golden eyes - eyes that blaze with natural hunger for some Evil Doing - the eyes of a well experienced hunter.

A hunter who so happens to be  _very_  particular about his greens..er…prey. 

Little do the foliage know…he doesn't give a rat’s ass about how they look. He chooses his victims by  _quality_ , not appearance.

(Although he’d sooner cross a duck  _without_  playing “dunk-a-duck” than allow anything less-than spotless within the premises of his flat.)

The most ruthless of the batch – the ones with the dark resolve to see countess brothers meet ill-fortune before they themselves are snuffed out... – those are the victors. Their fear fuels them, calls upon an underlying evil that can only be finagled out with proper poking and prodding in all those nice, painfully vulnerable places… And Crowley knows them all too well.

He also knows his adversary knows he knows. And he knows his adversary is going to attempt to counter his Evil Doing.

With 6,000 years of being adversaries, it'd be embarrassing if he didn't know. 

Sparing no grace, no mercy, no compassion - with a single glance - the next victim has been selected. 

Crowley dampens his lips with a flick of his forked tongue. 

Those bastardly plants deemed “evil-enough to remain in the serpent's lair” can only watch in helpless horror as yet another comrade is carted away to go...well, Heaven knows where.

 

_..The poor plant’s wee little screams could be heard by green life of all kinds, throughout the entirety of London._

 

_Crowley made sure of that._

* * *

 

About 5 blocks northeast, Aziraphale rolls his clear blue eyes for the Nth time, but the first time of the day. 

He had been relaxing, reading one of his rare books from his "Leisure Time" section, (one of the Brothers Grimm: Untold Stories, autographed, and with a personalized message!), when he was so rudely interrupted by the wave of terror that swept through London's plants.

It seems especially ghastly on this morning, he dully notes.

He sighs, sips his tea, and mutters something similar to "huff..all that noisy torture he's doing is bad for the trees, which supply paper for my precious books...despite the fact that paper is  _technically_  deceased tree anyways - Oh, the  _wonders_  these clever humans come up with! - ..I..I just don't want any book to have pages who have had to experience such awful a thing as..as fear. Because  _fear_  is the opposite of  _love_...."

The angel's light-golden brows knit together, trying to decide the best way to counter his enemy's nefarious actions.

He gracefully slides a cluttered stack of books on the table over, just slightly, as to not let them fall, and then he gently-as-a-dove sets his half-full tea cup in the newly-made clearing.

He’ll just have to love on all the trees he comes across on his way to the pond. That'll do it.

..The pond which he so happens to know his enemy will also be headed to shortly - as soon as he's finished with whatever fern he's tormenting this time...

Since he's had to deal with this enemy for 6,000 years, he'd be a fool's fool if he didn't know the villain's schedule by now.

He knows very well that the snake will be attending the pond to harass the - politely speaking - _more-than-_ accustomed ducks during their breakfast feast, as his usual hellish routine assures...

But luckily, the angel always brings some freshly baked bread to salve the poor ducks' ruffled feathers.

The angel slips on his tartan overcoat and his cozy wool scarf, smiling warmly as he steps into the chill of the morning.

The bookshop's rickety door rattles shut and locks behind him.

 

_..A gentle wave of warmth began flowing through the trees on the way towards St. James' Park._

_Aziraphale took fond care to each one._

* * *

 

On a bench beside the pond, the snake absentmindedly nearly drowns a duck to death, thoughts gathered elsewhere. Elsewhere as in what the bloody hell..er...heaven...was taking the angel so long. He should have got the memo by now, no? 

Wait.... Was he _really_  trying to hug every last damn tree on the way to the park..?

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes, but was unable to conceal his borderline-warm smirk.

"O Lord, heal these plants~" he whines sarcastically, as he lets the duck breathe again.

A second later, he sees the familiar bounce of blonde curls atop a frumpish angel.

"Oh, my dear, you really must stop harming these innocent ducks! A-And the trees!" the angel huffs, red-faced, apparently having heard the demon's mockery.

Crowley grins with his fangs.

"I'd like to see you make me, angel~"

Aziraphale twists his lips in an odd fashion, something, perhaps, between a coy smirk and an irritated scowl. He places a hand on one hip, attempting to look cross.

Crowley gazes up at him innocently, shades set low enough on his nose to aim a playful wink at his adversary.

The angel rolls his eyes helplessly and plops aside the demon, facing the brigade of soon-to-be-swarming ducks.

The demon simply places his hands behind his head and twiddles his thumbs.

* * *

 

_It was the beginning of a good…err…bad…errr…_

_...It was the beginning of yet another Simply Ineffable day._


End file.
